Good boy
by show-addicted
Summary: Reno is too full of himself, sometimes. It leads to trouble not only for him, but those who care for him, too. Can he deal with the consequences? TsengxReno.


**A/N: This is my first multi-chaptered story on , meaning it's also my first English Final Fantasy story that has more than one short chapter. Woah, go me. Instead of one, it will most probably have _two_ short chapters! Yay! **

**Some angst ahead, but mostly it will have humour and lame attempts at romance. Not lame on my side, mind you. We're talking about Reno here. Oh boy.**

**Warnings: yaoi/slash or whatever you wish to call it, violence, swearing, sex later on, some Rufus ShinRa along the way. Yeah, it's an official warning, here.**

Reno was positively furious. Outraged, even. He wanted to hurt someone. Break something. Make a living being cry and bleed and suffer, or something at least just as violent. He'd never been that angry before. He was shaking, not able to stop himself from showing emotions; his heartbeat was irregular and much too fast to even approach normal at the moment; and tears that he tried so hard to supress were threatening to flow down his face.

And the worst thing was, he could to nothing about the situation that pissed him off so much. Nothing at all. There was no way out and it was his own fucking fault. His orders said specifically NOT to go into the warehouse without Soldier backup. He was to wait and lead them in to get rid of the gang that resided inside. Of course, he fucked up.

Because, really, what would it hurt to go in and take a quick look around? He was a good Turk, there was no way they could notice him if he just sneaked in real quick.

Only, they did. They were probably waiting for him to fall into their hands like a stupid little rat that he was. It was a trap and he fell right into it. And he could only blame himself now. The Soldier wouldn't come to his rescue, because they didn't know the way in. And Tseng would probably avoid sending out a second Turk now, when Reno screwed up so royally.

He ruined the entire operation because of his stupidity and he really doubted that his boss would be too happy with him now.

And hanging there wasn't exactly his idea of fun, either. What those bastards did to him was what made him so freaking angry in the first place. That, his idiocy and the helplessness which came as a result.

They hung him on a wall, arms high up and tied tightly together, and his legs weren't touching the ground. Like a trophy they managed to hunt down. Or something. He was gagged, too – if he wasn't, he would have cursed them to hell and back, not that they cared; and his shirt was literally ripped open because the little shitters thought it really necessary to check if he wasn't, by chance, a woman. Disappointed, they ended up cutting his skin real bad or kicking and beating just about whatever spot of his body they could reach. Legs, stomach, ribs, chest. Oh, his chest was a bloody mess alright. A few of the shitheads decided to carve their names there, or something like that.

The pain was unbelieveable when they were "playing", but by now it subsided enough to be remotely bearable. It was only as if his whole body was on fire, as opposed to before. Which was utter hell. He didn't know how he'd managed not to faint during their little fun-time, but he supposed his subconsciousness had something to do with it, reminding him to act like a good Turk all the time. Why did his subconsciousness have Tseng's voice? He definitely didn't want to know.

He was scared of more pain, honestly. He was not sure if he could take it; and thus, instead of thinking about the blood and the bruises, and maybe bone fractures he had, he tried hard to be angry. It was less dangerous, it helped him think about something else but pain and pain and more pain. And it kept him from panicking.

He only hated the fact that he couldn't curse. He wanted to scream every swear word he knew, preferably at the top of his lungs. At least then somebody would know he was there. But no, the stupid bastards had to gag him. Well, it was a clever move, if he were to look at it from their point of view. They not only managed to muffle any sounds he would try to make; the gag also limited his breathing.

That was, quite possibly, the most annoying thing of all: they left, all of them, escaped via some emergency exit only they knew about, and he could do nothing about his situation, anyway. They fucking thought it out so well! This way, if a rescue team ever came to Reno's aid – which he seriously didn't believe would happen – it would probably be too late. Oh, and what a cruel way to get rid of the Turk they came up with...

Slow suffocation. They position they tied up the redhead in constricted his breathing in the most uncomfortable way. It didn't cut off air completely. It only made breathing more and more difficult, until, after a while, his oxygen would be too limited and he would die. Slowly, but surely.

He would die just like that.

He sighed softly. What a pathetic end, indeed. Worse than he would have wanted, really. He'd liked the idea of dying on a mission, yeah, but in action. Shot. Or stabbed. Or something. Not as a result of his own fuck-up. Not like this.

Anger was slowly leaving his tired body, instead came resignation. Well, it was fun most of the time. Being a Turk. Shit, he'd liked working for ShinRa, being Tseng's lazy, stupid second -in-command. He wondered briefly if Tseng had liked working with him. Probably not, judging from how many times he was on the complaint's list, or how often his pay was docked. Well. He couldn't help it. That was simply, well, him. Full of potential? Maybe. But still, good for nothing, lazy, stupid. Right? He'd proved it here.

Funny. He thought he'd heard something. Like someone moving. Who could it be? One of those bastards to check up on him, to see if he was already dead? Or someone even worse? He sighed, not without trouble, because breathing was becoming more and more hard. And he couldn't even move a finger, which, to say plainly, sucked. He didn't want to die like a loser, without putting up a fight, goddammit!

'Reno, are you there?' A familiar voice asked softly from the darkness and the redhead had to wonder if this was his imagination playing stupid tricks on his poor mind, suffering from oxygen deficiency. What could the owner of that voice be doing here of all places? This had to be a sick joke of his exhausted imagination or something. Yeah. Or something.

'There you are,' that voice said again, when Reno was ready to dismiss it as non-existent. 'Fuck,' it suddenly seemed closer and that's when the redhead realised his eyes were closed. When did he close them? He didn't remember doing that... He opened them immediately and saw that man, standing in front of him, something akin to anger in his expression.

Tseng rarely looked angry. Well, he rarely looked anything, really. But now, he seemed pissed off and Reno would have flinched and begged for forgiveness, preferably on his knees, were it in his wide range of abilities at the moment. It wasn't. He could only stare and hope his boss would have mercy and simply shoot him.

Instead of shooting him, Tseng did something much more unbelieveable: he freed Reno's arms and held the redhead so that he wouldn't fall down rather ungracefully. And he was kind enough to remove the damned gag.

So, Reno mused, he was saved. It didn't matter that his arms felt as if a thousand needles poked them every fucking second, or that his head was spinning, or that his chest looked like a horror flick gone wrong. He was still alive. "Still" being the key-word there.

'Don't you dare faint on me,' Tseng commanded and Reno found himself obeying without question. It was just so Tseng, to be able to order him so effectively around, even in such a situation. 'Good boy, Reno. Let's get you out of here.'

And so they did.

Reno didn't remember much of what happened next. Tseng took him to some place, somewhere, whatever, and the redhead's wounds were probably tended to. Sometime along those lines Reno must have finally lost consciousness, because the next thing he knew, he woke up.

And it definitely wasn't his messy apartament's bedroom where he woke up in, oh no it wasn't. It was too bright, too elegant and too clean, and it didn't smell funny. Plus, the bed he was occupying was so big and comfy... very much unlike his own one. So, where?

The answer presented itself quite soon when Tseng came in, carrying a small tray which he set on the bedside table upon noticing that the redhead was awake.

'Welcome back to the land of living,' tha man said, his expression as neutral as always. Yet his tone was warm. He sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to hurt Reno in any way.

'Won't you ask me, I dunno, how I feel or something?' The red-haired Turk asked in quite a childish manner, almost certain it would somehow irritate his boss.

It didn't.

'Why should I, if I already know the answer?' Tseng asked instead.

'Well, what is it if you know it so well?' Reno argued, actually pouting. He wondered briefly if he looked cute. He wondered if _Tseng _found him cute.

'Something along the lines of _"I feel like shit"_,' the Turks' commander replied calmly, reaching for something from the tray on the bedside table. A small tube of something. 'You're predictable, Reno.'

'I'm so not!' The redhead protested loudly, huffing. Definitely cute. And bratty. And annoying.

'Then, if you're not... how do you feel?' Tseng asked, expression never changing, tone as casual as ever. Smug bastard.

'Ummm... okay, so I do feel like shit, you win. Happy now, boss?'

'No, Reno. I'm not happy,' the man said softly, before he started to unbutton the redhead's shirt. Which was much too big for the younger Turk's small frame.

'Hey, hey, wait, what are you doing?' Reno asked, looking about to run away had he been given a chance. And was he strong enough. Which he, of course, wasn't.

'I'm trying to tend to your chest so that all those nasty cuts don't leave scars. I don't think you would appreciate it if your chest looked like a field of Hojo's experiments gone wrong, would you?'

The redhead didn't protest after that. It did feel kind of good when Tseng spread little amounts of something cool from the tube, drawing little circles with his fingers on Reno's skin. It made the burning pain go away. The half-liquid coolness was bliss. And Tseng's fingers. They were also cool and wet, just so right. So right...

'Go back to sleep, Reno. Good boy,' the Wutaian man said, his voice filled with a kind of gentle warmth that wasn't usually there. The redhead stared at him, or wanted to, really, because now that he thought about it, he was still sleepy. Soon, he drifted off to his own personal Wonderland, while still feeling Tseng's wonderful fingers on his chest.

It wasn't so surprising that he dreamt of his boss, right?...

**End of chapter note: Gonna continue that. Really. Sometime soon. I guess. In the meantime, reviews are nice xd **


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